I like to be alone.

I like to read alone,
To eat alone,
To drink coffee alone.

When I'm alone, I can hear the leaky pipe tapping,
The rustling of trees in the wind,
The mumbling of voices through the thick walls,
And the dripping of the coffee maker.

I like the silence of it all.
No stress of entertaining.
No need to be compelled to do something
I don't truly want to.

I can finish work,
Or a book,
Or that series I've been wanting to watch,
With no one to interrupt.

But when I walked down the street
And saw a mother with her daughter,
Two brothers playing football,
And friends looking over each other’s shoulders at their phones,

I see that if the mother and daughter ever argued,
They'd still love each other.
And if the brothers fought,
They'd make up and laugh.

And if the friend ever broke up,
They'd call each other at midnight, crying full of regrets.
And I wanted that,
That connection and love.

Looking at all this,
I realize,
While I like being alone,
I don't fancy being lonely.